Ten Thousand Swings X Zoldyck's Physical Fitness

"The sword is an extension of your arm..."

"They say that for every inch of length, there is an inch of strength; where your hands and feet cannot reach, the sword must compensate."

"Your stance is wrong. Your back should be straight and leaning slightly forward, your center of gravity stable, eyes fixed on the tip of the blade, forming a single straight line..."

"When you strike downward, you must channel all your strength into the edge to maximize the force of the cut..."

"Wrong! Raise your hands higher. Where did you put your elbows?"

"I told you to look straight ahead, not to expose your chin for the enemy to stab!"

"The downward strike must be straight, straight... if you keep doing it like that, the blade will snap easily..."

"One, strike... put some power into it..."

"Two, again..."

"Three... four... if you don't finish two thousand strikes before the sun sets, no dinner for you!"

Deep in the wilderness of Mount Sagiri, a few splintered wooden posts lay scattered across a clearing... Urokodaki Sakonji corrected Roy's stance, footwork, and blade angle with tireless patience. Finally, after observing for a while, he dropped the task of "two thousand strikes per day" and vanished.

According to the experience of Shinsuke, Fukuda, and the others, it was considered a success if a beginner could manage one thousand swings without collapsing from exhaustion.

But... two thousand... all they could say was, "Eiichiro is in for a rough time."

"Master is just being stubborn." Makomo stood on a tall birch tree, leaning down to watch Roy focus on his Iaijutsu training, swing after swing... The boy was neither impatient nor restless, executing every move with precision, showing no dissatisfaction or complaint despite Urokodaki Sakonji's "last-minute increase" in workload.

He was a bit too calm.

"That's not stubbornness; it's just that Master has never taught a disciple as outstanding as Eiichiro."

Ten days to grasp the mystery of "Breathing"—such talent was unheard of... Sabito corrected Makomo, his eyes hidden behind a fox mask fixed intently on Roy's practice. For a fleeting moment, his vision seemed to blur, and he saw Giyu from their childhood—the same thick, jet-black hair, the same peerless talent that made others envious.

"How many swings did Brother Giyu manage when he first started?" Makomo asked curiously.

"Him?" Sabito smiled. "At first, he could barely manage eight hundred. Master had to personally guide his arms to help him finish the remaining two hundred..."

Sabito added with a hint of nostalgia, "But later, his stamina grew stronger. At his peak, he completed three 'Ten Thousand Swings' sessions. It was from that day on that Master took him to the waterfall to begin training in Breathing Techniques."

"Three times? I only managed two..." Makomo pouted, feeling a bit unconvinced.

"You're already impressive enough. At his best, that guy Fukuda only managed a little over eighteen hundred..."

Shinsuke chimed in, ruthlessly exposing his friend's past.

"And what makes you any better than me?" Fukuda grabbed Shinsuke by the neck and put him in a chokehold. "You piece of trash, you only did ten more than me! And you brag about it every single day..."

"Ten more is still more..." Shinsuke countered by sneakily grabbing Fukuda's crotch. As they cursed and wrestled, they stirred up gusts of cold wind as usual...

Sabito was long accustomed to their crude behavior. His beautiful eyes remained locked on Roy below, curious to see just how far this beginner could actually go.

At the very least, I can't be worse than Tanjiro. Roy swung his blade down, strike after strike, knowing full well that in the original story, Tanjiro's first record was one and a half "Ten Thousand Swings," which meant fifteen hundred. Urokodaki Sakonji had added five hundred to that, clearly intending to test him.

But two thousand was still too little. With his physical constitution being ten times that of an ordinary person, as long as his stance and angle remained correct, Roy felt he could complete a true "Ten Thousand Swings"—that is, ten thousand swings a day.

Whoosh! The blade sliced through the wind and snow, leaving a whistling trail.

From morning to noon, and then to dusk, Roy didn't stop for a single moment, save for a quick drink of water and two rice balls wrapped by Urokodaki Sakonji. He was already closing in on nine thousand...

"Nine thousand one... nine thousand two... nine thousand three... nine thousand four..."

With every strike, he lost his earlier composure and began to tire... his arms started to ache, and his chest heaved like a broken bellows, gasping for air—huff, puff...

"Monster." Shinsuke, Fukuda, and the other wandering spirits fell into an eerie silence. They went from bickering to pass the time, to lounging around lazily, and finally to standing upright, watching Roy in shock... only a single day had passed.

"That's it... he's not human, he's a demon!" Shinsuke refused to believe his eyes, firmly concluding, "This guy Eiichiro must be an evil demon, intentionally getting close to Master, waiting for him to let his guard down so he can bite Master's head off."

"Shut your damn mouth!" Fukuda raised his hand and gave him a sharp flick to the forehead, cursing, "Do you think the sun is just for decoration?"

"What kind of demon would dare to move in the daytime?!"

Although Mount Sagiri was shrouded in thick fog year-round, sunlight occasionally pierced through the mist and cast into the mountains.

Never mind a demon; even the Demon King himself would be reduced to ash.

Even so... to be able to swing a sword ten thousand times as a beginner, completing a true "Ten Thousand Swings," was truly too astonishing...

This guy Eiichiro was challenging everyone's perception time and time again!

Sabito was lost in thought when he felt his sleeve being tugged. He turned to see Makomo looking at him with sparkling eyes, saying, "We can be set free."

Set free... that was the dream everyone had been longing for!

"Yes."

Makomo was right; they could finally be set free.

Sabito took a breath and nodded heavily. He looked down once more—

The boy in the birch forest stood in the snowy land, gathering his last ounce of strength, and lunged forward for one final strike...

Slash! The blade sank into the wooden post, cutting through it as easily as scissors through paper!

"Ten thousand!"

[System Prompt: Swordsmanship +10...]

"Haa—"

A long breath exhaled, transforming into a long dragon of mist.

The severed wooden stake rolled down to his feet...

Roy stood leaning on his blade, his bangs already frosted over from the sweat...

He smiled and said, "Master, is dinner ready?"

Behind him... in the dense, misty mountain forest, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Wearing a Tengu mask, he stared at the boy's not-so-tall back in silence for a moment before dropping a single sentence: "Two thousand more tomorrow."

He turned and walked away...

"Heh heh heh..." The boy chuckled in a suppressed voice, then his shoulders began to shake, his chin lifted, and he faced the sky, turning his laughter into a wild, unrestrained roar against the wind and snow...

"Satisfying!"

The laughter pierced through the thick fog...

Startling a flock of birds into flight...

"Screech—"

One foolish snowy owl, too startled to escape in time, slammed headfirst into a branch and fainted on the spot...